I didn't know what to label this chapter as so...
*In Her Head*
I sat in the art museum like I so often did. My favorite painting hung in front of me.
How I loved it so much, the powerful strokes of blue, the subtle lines of green, and the highlighting white sprinkled perfectly to create the illusion of water.
In my mind it was so much more than canvas and paint. The waves spilled over the frame in a waterfall of colours. Green and blue filled the floor with a sense of a void, as the ocean always did for me.
The birds portrayed by the artist's hand diving beneath the waves flew through the water and into the empty space of the gallery, droplets of paint dripping from their intricate feathers behind them, before they dived back into the painting.
This was what I saw everytime I looked at the painting, the art was trapped by the four sides of the frame, caged by the prospect of order.
Art was wild, it could not be tamed, and this piece just made me feel like it really could not be restrained.
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Hey! I'm bored. So I hope you enjoyed and uh... Vote? Comment? Anywho.
Ciao!
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Left Behind
General FictionA compilation of short stories in a variety of different genres. (Sorry this is such a terrible description, there was no way to put it without it sounding really stupid.)
